Swandive
by ob frankenfics
Summary: With Cosima on the rebound, Delphine is surprised to find her own arousal turned towards an unlikely source: Marion Bowles. #vintageBordeaux Inspired by the song Swandive by Ani Difranco.
1. Chapter 1

Written by tatarrific and OTP324B21

 _I've got a lack of inhibition_  
 _I've got a loss of perspective_  
 _I've had a little bit to drink_  
 _and it's making me think_  
 _that I can jump ship and swim_  
 _that the ocean will hold me_  
 _that there's got to be more_  
 _than this boat I'm in_

 _-Swandive by Ani Difranco_

* * *

The setting is classically opulent, Delphine thinks, the Bowles mansion a strange mix of sleek luxury and bunker-like fortification. The grand sitting room, which they currently occupy, is drawn in larger than life lines – ceiling to floor windows, tasteful colors, and large, stuffy furniture arranged at precise angles. Even the woman sitting with quiet authority across from her seems to fit the same aesthetic – sleek, sharp lines and angular planes only somewhat offset by the soft billow of the expensive clothes and a cascade of perfectly arranged locks.

The dark eyes gazing at her are predictably inscrutable, Marion's face a placid mask. Delphine raises the tumbler to her lips, delaying her answer for a moment, and welcomes the burn of whisky. The alcohol leaves a bloom of heat in her chest and an answering haziness in her head and she closes her eyes, savoring the sharp bite. She knows she should focus, sharpen her attention and maintain the veneer of professionalism in front of this woman, but it has been a long, hard month since she returned from Frankfurt, and her composure is brittle. She feels brittle. She has been drawn deeper into Topside's machinations, has been tasked with orchestrating them, and been disconnected from all that was familiar in Toronto: Aldous, dead; Rachel, 'neutralized', in the parlance of corporate intrigue and Cosima.. Her jaw twitches as an image flashes before her closed eyes, the black and white photo grainy but the scene captured clearly – Cosima, eyes crinkling at the corners with mirth and tenderness, with barely repressed excitement, a petite blonde sitting across from her returning the smile, her hand on Cosima's knee.

"Delphine?"

She swallows, then opens her eyes, meeting Marion's gaze.

"Your thoughts on the Sarah situation?"

There it is again, the same undercurrent of cool disregard tinting the inquiry despite the civility of the tone. Marion is better at masking it than Rachel ever was, or ever cared to be, but Delphine recognizes the attitude with ease – still just Leekie's pet, the pretty girl scientist who foolishly absconded with her subject. An airhead at worst, a useful, malleable pawn at best. Even now, even after all she's done - Rachel, Ferdinand.. Cosima.

Heat tinges her cheeks as she leans forward, fingers whitening around the heavy crystal glass. She is done being coy and diplomatic. She is tired, tired to the very bones of her.

"Frankly, Marion, my opinion on the Sarah _situation_ doesn't matter." An elegant dark brow rises cooly, whether at her tone or the words, Delphine is not sure. "Since you decided to trade her sister to the Castor faction she has been a loose cannon and the repercussions are just beginning."

Delphine tilts her head, returning the look. "I have been with the project for five years now, and every time I think I have a grasp on what the goals are, I am inevitably wrong. Aldous," she pauses, mouth set in a straight line, defiant, but Marion meets her gaze dispassionately, "didn't trust me with the full scope of the project, but he respected my work. Rachel," the sneer in her voice is audible, "didn't respect me at all, but found me a useful tool at times. So maybe, for once," she leans back, sweeping her arm out in invitation, "we can get this one thing out in the open. What do you want from me?"

The interplay of emotions on Marion's face is subtle and quick, but Delphine is an adept study. The flash of respect is brief but it is a look, always preceded by surprise, that Delphine has come to know well over the years. It is almost as familiar as the look of interest that flares and never fully fades from Marion's eyes, the frank bite of desire.

Delphine runs her tongue across her lips unconsciously, nonplussed, uncertain. The men were always easy to read and manipulate, a simplest of puzzles. When they desired her it was usually transmitted freely, expectantly. Marion is subtle, self-contained and Delphine would have written off the minute flaring of the nostrils, the downward sweep of her eyes as an aberration were it not confirmed, moments later, when the dark eyes focus on her lips.

She leans back in the chair, bringing the tumbler to her lips in an effort to hide her surprise. The ice clinks against the glass, betraying her shaking hand, Marion watching her silently save a faint smile gracing the edges of her mouth.

"Delphine-" Marion pauses, as though rethinking what she is about to say, eyes slightly narrowing. She reaches out, placing her own glass down onto the coffee table between them with a clink, the movement serving to emphasize the strong lines of her neck, reveal the swell of her breasts above the V of her shirt to Delphine's gaze. When she sits back, legs recrossing languorously, Delphine makes a point of keeping her eyes locked to Marion's, her features studiously blank.

"I appreciate your candor, Delphine," the smile tugging at the edge of Marion's lips is touched with slyness, and Delphine feels her heartbeat trip under the dark gaze.

"I'm sure we can come, " the pause is minute, barely perceptible but speaks volumes, "to a mutually satisfactory arrangement."

Delphine takes a breath. This, then. It takes a moment to register, but the low trill she feels in her chest is unmistakable: arousal. She tips the tumbler back, exposing her pulse point to Marion's gaze, finishes her drink with a final, slow run of her tongue across her lips. The burn is sharp, familiar and this time when she smiles, she shows her teeth.

"Yes, Marion, I believe we will."

* * *

Cosima runs her hands down the front of her lab coat surreptitiously, glancing at the elevator numbers. She is anxious, more than she expected to be, palms slick with sweat, and when the door opens at the top floor, she exhales loudly and steps out.

It has been days since they lost contact with Sarah, and Siobhan's efforts to locate her have run dry. With Sarah disappeared their direct line of contact to Marion as well, but Topside is their best hope now, though that doesn't make what she has to do next any easier. She pauses at the end of the gleaming hallway, unwilling to turn the corner to Delphine's office yet. She takes another deep inhale, cheeks puffing up with withheld breath.

This is business at its purest, she knows, since both Dyad and Topside will want to know, if they don't already, what happened with Sarah, and they - _Sarah_ \- need the corporation's help. They need all the help they can get. And yet, here she is, stalling.

It feels like forever now, if she casts her mind back to it, since she saw Delphine last - the hallway, the heartbreak - but it has been mere weeks since that day. So much has happened in the meantime, the Castor complications, Duncan's cypher… Shay. Shay, most of all.

So why, then, is she hugging the wall in front of the Dyad Director's office instead of going in?

Sound of laughter tinkles down the hall and Cosima straightens up, alert. She recognizes it immediately, the low, throaty chuckle, the unintelligible murmur of conversation that follows it. Delphine. She swallows compulsively, affected by the familiar timbre, the undertone of flirtatious intimacy betrayed by Delphine's voice. _Who…?_

She peers around the corner, eyes scanning the clear glass of the Director's office. Delphine and.. Marion. The new director is leaning against her desk, arms braced against the shiny glass, legs crossed at the ankle. Blonde head is tilted toward Marion, standing attentively beside her, dark head bent toward Delphine in response. They are standing close, Marion's finger slowly tracing a repeating pattern across the tabletop inches away from Delphine's hand, and Cosima can see her lips move, the low susurrus of her voice barely reaching her ears.

Cosima stares unblinking at the tableau, unbelieving, and then sees Delphine cant her head in response and laugh again, the same low, suggestive response Cosima had reveled drawing out of the blonde herself. She takes in the splay of Delphine's body toward Marion, the subtle opening of hip and shoulder meant to draw in, to welcome, recognizes the appreciative gaze the older woman anoints Delphine with in response. The realization of what she is witnessing is swift, and so is the bitter bite of jealousy that follows it.

Her hands fist at her sides and she takes a step forward without thought, eyes locked on Delphine. She lifts her head fully toward Marion, hair sliding away from her face in a shiny wave and Cosima can now see her face fully, the sensual curl of her lips. The tension between the two women is obvious even from her vantage point, their bodies angled toward each other sharply, with intent.

A soft beep issues from Delphine's desk phone, followed by a disembodied voice.

"Dr. Cormier, they are ready for you in the large conference room."

Marion chuckles, straightening. "Saved by the bell, then."

Cosima sees Delphine pause briefly before hitting the response button, smile soft. "Not for long, I hope. Martin, we will be there shortly, thank you."

Cosima steps back, her back meeting the wall. She sees Delphine stand up, straighten out her skirt, nod to Marion once before turning toward the door. It is only when Marion follows Delphine closely, hand nestled against the small of her back, says, "Dinner tonight? I can stop by," hears Delphine respond, "That would be lovely," that Cosima realizes she had held on to a sliver of hope that she was wrong about the situation, was reading into things, feels it dissipate under the flirtatiousness of Delphine's smile.

She turns and rounds the corner toward the elevator, not bothering to mute the hollow echo of her footsteps.


	2. Chapter 2

Delphine looked over the rim of her wine glass, her eyes locked with dark chocolate. Her plate was a mix of steamed vegetables and chicken, delivered by the French bistro around the corner and barely touched. She wasn't hungry, and judging from Marion's plate, neither was she. It wasn't surprising. Dinner wasn't really dinner was it? Dinner was a formality, a reason to justify lustful looks over glasses filled with Bordeaux. The wine was doing the job she hoped it would, dulling her inhibitions to the point that she found it difficult to keep her eyes from straying to wine-stained lips or the long curve of a pale neck.

"Do you like the wine? It's a favorite of mine. I thought you might like a taste of home." The corner of Marion's mouth quirked. Power was knowledge in the game that was DYAD and topside. It was a thinly veiled threat that said 'I know where your family lives.'

Delphine knew better than to show any fear. "It's lovely..." Setting down the glass, she leaned forward, her voice dropping in timbre. "...but there are sweeter things I have in store for tonight." She raked her eyes over the woman's body, noticing the very subtle work of her throat as the woman swallowed. Pushing herself out of her seat, she closed the distance between herself and Marion, stopping inches from physical contact, forcing the woman to look up at her. "Dessert?" She asked, moving to pick up the long-forgotten plate. A hand circled around her wrist, causing her to pause.

She was so sure she had been in control. She needed it. Delphine wanted to control at least one thing in her life and as the woman stood with the grace of a panther about to pounce, she realized how little control she had. A hand caressed the length of her neck, chocolate irises never leaving her own hazel eyes as nimble fingers began to unbutton her shirt. There was no playfulness, no cheeky banter, just pure, unrequited sensuality. Delphine wasn't sure which she preferred. She found herself comparing everything to the one other woman she'd slept with... fallen for... made love to. Marion's fingers were slimmer, but her grip was stronger. She commanded instead of coaxed, pushing aside silk and lace as if it was just another challenge between her and what she wanted.

Delphine felt naked and exposed as critical eyes traveled over her body, taking in her naked form from the waist up. Cosima had always been so warm, never letting the air stand between them, demanding closeness and loving caresses. Standing before Marion, she felt judged, a prize being inspected for it's perfection and she was surprised at the reaction it coerced from her own body, her nipples tightening in response, arousal pooling between her thighs. This wasn't Cosima, that much was obvious. Cosima had always wanted her to take control, forcing her to command, but Marion made no such demand. Marion at long last closed the distance between their bodies, capturing Delphine's lips in a kiss that held no hesitance. There was a tongue that flicked over her lips, demanding a deeper submergence into her mouth, forcing a whimper from Delphine's throat. It was a sound she wasn't used to. Cosima didn't make her whimper in surprise. Cosima made her moan in pleasure, but as she felt the zipper of her skirt sliding down and the material falling to the ground, she needed more. She wanted to whimper, wanted to be taken where she stood, naked and exposed while the older woman was still fully clothed.

How often had she done this to Cosima, the brunette pulling her forward, wanting to be taken against the wall, wanting Delphine to press her hard against the cold surface, leading Delphine's hands to where she wanted and what she needed. It was always Cosima. Cosima was always the guiding force of her life, telling her when to get out, when to come back, when to touch her. As her own body was pressed into the wall, nearly knocking a frame portrait from the wall with the force of the collision, she felt herself let go.

There was no love, she made no mistake there. She was wading through shark-infested waters, and Marion was a shark, stalking her prey, dragging her down into the depth of emotion-less pleasure. The older woman was releasing her mouth, allowing her to gasp for air even as she was drowning, another sharp whimper emerging as fingertips pinched a nipple, the hand palming her breast roughly as lips and tongue assaulted the other. She bit her own bottom lip, afraid her voice would betray her, afraid that her mind would forget that this was not the brunette that was forbidden to her.

She wanted to run her hands through the woman's hair, pull her forward, but she was afraid it would be seen as a challenge, afraid the attention would cease at the implication that she was trying to take control. Instead she clawed at the wall as the hands and lips moved down her body. She looked down into pools of the darkest brown and there was no doubt who was in control of her body. This shark was on her knees, in a position of submission, but as she eased Delphine's panties down her legs, there was nothing submissive about it.

There was nothing submissive about the way she guided one of Delphine's long legs over her shoulder, a smirk of victory as she looked up between the valley of Delphine's breasts, staring at the blonde who watched her with anticipation, her chest heaving with every breath, her brow furrowing as Marion still held back, wondering what she was supposed to do, what she had to do to deserve relief. She wanted it, just for a second, more than she wanted anything. More than she needed love, more than she needed affection. In a moment of desperate need, she wanted Marion more than she wanted Cosima. Cosima was a child in comparison to the woman kneeling before her, demanding complete control. For those few seconds, she gave herself completely, her past, present, and future, to the woman before her. Whatever Marion wanted.

That was the look Marion waited for. The look of complete loss, complete submission. She had waited patiently for the need to take over before dipping her tongue into the blonde's arousal, getting rewarded with a shuddered breath that bordered between a moan and a whimper. She was slow and meticulous, gathering the moisture on her tongue, fully aware of the slick heat that coated her mouth, nose and chin. She switched between flicking her tongue over the swollen clit and broad strokes with a stiff tongue.

Delphine's head was tilted back against the wall, no longer able to keep the woman's gaze. The tongue was relentless, those lips and that mouth consuming her whole as weeks of loneliness and heartbreak were wiped from her memory, replaced by two fingers sliding into her, claiming her body completely. The past months of desperately needing approval, constantly being on the side of wrong, came crashing down as tongue and fingers built her up. The arm circling the thigh that was thrown over Marion's shoulder supported her in a way she longed to be supported.

It wasn't love, but in a way it was better. It was desire. It was a loss of control. It was pure fucking. Yes there were strings attached, but not the same strings Cosima came with. This wasn't someone who demanded she be in control, and punishing her for it. This wasn't always being on the outside of a family that demanded she sacrifice everything only to be shunned and mocked for it. She wasn't in control and it was bliss. It was knowing where you stood.

She was whimpering with each thrust of a hand that had added a third finger, with each flick of a tongue that was forcing her closer to the edge, a chasm of perfection before her as her inner walls clenched around the digits, milking each thrust for what it was worth. Unable to stop, her hands tangled in the dark locks, her hips thrusting forward as she was pushed over, her body shuddering with wave after wave of pleasure as the tongue continued to move against her relentlessly, fingers still pumping just a bit slower. And then she was sliding down the wall, her thigh no longer supported, lips and tongue no longer on her, fingers slipping from her before she made it to the floor. Suddenly she was crying, naked and exposed, her face in her hands. Her body was sated, but her soul had turned black and blue, bruised from the very tongue and fingers that had just given her pleasure.

Marion pushed herself to her feet, disappearing into the kitchen where Delphine heard the sound of running water. She reentered with the cold sound of her heels against the wooden floors, hands and face washed clean as she slid down beside the blonde. "Delphine." When Delphine looked up, she firmly captured the blonde's jaw between thumb and forefinger. "It's alright." She brought her thumb up to wipe away a tear, her grip becoming a caress of a cheek. "I'm not expecting this to go anywhere, so if that's what you're afraid..."

Delphine shook her head. "It's not you. It's just..."

"I'm not her." Marion rose her eyebrow with a smirk. "Did you ever think that maybe that's a good thing?" Taking a chance, she leaned forward, capturing Delphine's lips in a kiss again. After a moment of gentle exploration, she broke the kiss off, pushing herself into a stand. "I'll see you in the office." As she turned, she found her hand captured, looking down at the now kneeling woman.

Delphine let one hand slip up the smooth length of Marion's calf, looking up through long eyelashes. "Stay." She whispered, her hand sliding up and under the woman's skirt, her reward coming in the form of a sensual smile spreading across Marion's face.


	3. Chapter 3

It is with some measure of surprise that she sees Cosima rush through the main entrance. The woman has been avoiding Dyad for a while, ever since they saw each other last - Delphine's mind cannot avoid flashing back to the hallway, the pain of that goodbye - has been back to her lab only three times, according to the log of her Dyad ID.

Delphine stills by the bank of elevators, observing. Her driver will wait while she allows herself this one moment to observe unimpeded.

Cosima looks healthy if somewhat drawn, her normally vibrant clothes set aside in lieu of darker colors and plainer lines, her outfit almost Sarah-esque in its simplicity - tight fitting black jeans, a plain black button down shirt and a loose, dark sweater over it. Even her hair, gathered in a messy bun at the top of her head, is covered with a gray beanie. Delphine frowns, chewing on her lip. She will have to put extra feelers out, make sure Cosima is not trying to do anything foolish.

Still, there is a moment to appreciate the brunette's beauty, the immutable Cosima-ness that shines through: the particular softness in the cast of her mouth, the nervous energy giving sound to the still present array of bracelets around her wrists, the eyes.

Delphine inhales, blinking, but maintains eye contact which has now rooted Cosima to the spot. She can tell Cosima is stricken, mouth slack with surprise, and feels a responding pang of loss, of regret. The distance yawns between them as they stare at each other from across the Dyad atrium, across the weeks spent apart, the experiences that shaped them but were not shared with each other.

Her most recent report was detailed and not even the whole bottle of wine she'd had before reading it could mute the burn of the facts dispassionately listed within. " _Subject and Shay met at the loft then walked together for dinner at Rice, a Thai restaurant on Spadina Avenue. After drinks at Bobby's Bar, they returned to the loft at approx. 23.00. Rooftop agent provided visual confirmation of sexual relations. No photos were taken per your instructions. Shay departed around 03.30, and subject remained in the apartment until mid-morning, at which point she joined Scott at the Dyad lab_."

Cosima, even at her most guarded, has never been adept at hiding her feelings and now, as they face each other unexpectedly, Delphine easily reads the interplay of emotions that flicker across her face, ambivalence and sorrow chief among them. She feels her chest constrict in response even as she fights to keep her face placid, a mask cast under the directive Marion whispered into her ear those few long weeks ago. _"Everyone has a role to play, Delphine. You best not forget what is yours."_

And yet, even so, seeing Cosima so unguarded now, seeing her look at her with regret and with love, love still so visible in her dark eyes, makes Delphine burn, makes her want to weep. What would it take for them to give in to the impulse and walk toward each other, arms open? What would it feel like to hold Cosima again, bend down toward those lips, to love? Delphine's mind trips over itself, unbidden images flooding in - Marion, bow-taut under her teasing mouth, urging her on with rarely shown impatience; her dark chuckle rumbling into Delphine's sweaty temple afterwards, _"You have started taking liberties, Delphine. Don't let it bleed over into your work."_

Cosima with Shay that first time, photos grainy but explicit, before Delphine put a stop to them - a pale, beautiful starfish across Felix's bed, hands fisted into blood-red sheets, undone under Shay's ministrations, so unlike the confident, kind lover who coaxed along a trembling, inexperienced Delphine. What of their new experiences, new lovers would convey should they approach each other again, what phantom caresses would they feel?

Delphine shakes her head minutely, disturbed by the thought, sees Cosima blink in response, features closing in. She exhales, mouth tightening at yet another misunderstanding, another opportunity gone, as Cosima shoulders past her without a word. The impulse to reach out, to stop her is strong, but her mobile vibrates in her hand with eerie timing and she looks down at the message on her screen. " _MB: Dinner tonight, my place? You can spend the night."_

Delphine inhales, stands taller, exhales. Hesitates only briefly before sending her reply. She was never good at not letting her emotions bleed over into her work, was she?


End file.
